Pt 2
The driver didn’t leave. Instead, he walked over and sat down close to me, his presence unexpectedly comforting in the sterile, tense atmosphere of the hospital waiting room. “My name is Jackson,” he said softly, his voice breaking the heavy silence that hung
The room fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that follows a storm of emotions. Jesse’s sister sat by his bedside, her hand resting on his, while I lingered near the door, feeling both an outsider and a part of something deeply personal.
That day, I had just left my hostel, carrying a portrait, a bottle of wine, and several gift boxes that were almost falling out of my hands. It was Jesse, my only brother’s birthday, and I wanted everything to be perfect. The portrait was a custom piece, his favorite picture,
When we finally pulled up to the emergency room, everything seemed to move in fast forward. Nurses and doctors swarmed around us as we rushed inside, their voices calm but urgent as they took him from our arms and onto a stretcher. I stood there, frozen, my clothes stained with